Illus, an ambitious general and, like Zeno, an Isaurian, had at first supported Basiliscus in his short-lived usurpation ten years previously. However, realizing in time that he had backed a loser, he had switched his allegiance to Zeno — temporarily, as it transpired. In the year of Theoderic’s consulship he had made his own bid for the purple, coming out openly against the Eastern Emperor. To meet this fresh threat, Zeno had turned to the old ally who had helped him regain his throne from Basiliscus: Theoderic. With a mixed force of Gothic warriors and regular Roman troops (including Thracian units under a seething Julian), Theoderic loyally set out for Isauria. The army had advanced no farther than Nicomedia, the first major city in Asia, when a messenger came secretly to Julian in camp. The man revealed that he had come from Theoderic’s brother Thiudimund, with this warning: the Amal king was planning to join forces with Illus; together they would then overthrow Zeno and replace him with his rival Isaurian. Julian couldn’t believe his luck. If he acted swiftly, he could bring about the humiliation, perhaps downfall, of his old adversary. At the same time, he would be ingratiating himself with the emperor, and no doubt the coveted post of Magister Militum praesentalis would soon be his. Minutes later, a dispatch rider was posting westward for the capital; within hours rather than days, Theoderic would surely be receiving the order — written in purple ink and bearing the emperor’s seal — for his recall. .
And so it had transpired. In bitterness and fury, Theoderic had returned to his base at Novae, whence he had vented his feelings of betrayal in a series of devastating raids on Thrace. Within these last few weeks, he had escalated his offensive by launching a major assault on Constantinople itself: pillaging suburbs, cutting the Aqueduct of Valens, the conduit to the city’s main water supply, and now mounting this sea-borne attack on the capital’s soft underbelly, unprotected by the great landward-facing Walls of Theodosius.
The expected imperial gratitude for divulging Theoderic’s reported treachery had not been forthcoming. To Julian’s consternation, when he told Zeno that the source of his information was Thiudimund, the emperor had reacted with rage and disbelief.
‘Thiudimund slanders his brother — and you believe him!’ Zeno had stormed. ‘Good God, man, everyone knows that their relationship is poisonous, and that Thiudimund wouldn’t overlook the slightest opportunity to do his brother down. Everyone but Flavius Julianus it would seem. Well, thanks to you, we’ve got the most powerful barbarian nation in Europe in a state of war against us. For your sake, you’d better pray that Theoderic’s assault on the capital doesn’t succeed.’
‘Jacite!’* On Menander’s command, the stubby tongues of flame wavering from the mouths of the row of tubes were suddenly transformed into roaring jets, as his team began to work the pump-handles of the reservoirs containing a mixture of bitumen, sulphur and naphtha. The leading Goths swarming up the ladders propped against the sea-walls were engulfed in a fiery blast. Human torches, they dropped, screaming, to the beach; water flung on them by their horrified companions had no effect. Relentlessly, the flames continued to burn — through skin and muscle to the very bone.
The success of the new weapon was instantaneous and total. Witnessing the fate of the first to scale the ladders, the Goths — individual warriors who, unlike Roman troops, couldn’t be ordered into battle against their will — refused to press on with the attack, and the fleet retreated to the Asiatic shore. Soon afterwards, Theoderic called off the investment of the city, and marched his host back to their Moesian heartland.
‘Well, thanks to your new weapon, this “Greek fire”, as the Goths are calling it,’ Zeno reluctantly conceded to Julian, ‘we’ve now got a breathing-space from the attentions of Theoderic. For the moment.’ The pair, together with Thalassios (now Magister Excubitorum, commander of the crack Isaurian unit from which was drawn the emperor’s personal bodyguard), were holding a council of war in the capital’s Great Palace. ‘But we can’t allow things to drift. After that debacle at the Shipka Pass, and more recently his recall from the Illus expedition’ — Zeno paused, to glare meaningfully at Julian — ‘Theoderic’s never going to trust us again. We now have to treat him as a permanent enemy — one who’s going to continue blackmailing us, by beating up the Balkans, into granting more and more concessions of land, and subsidies in gold. Any suggestions, gentlemen?’
‘Serenity, let’s not keep on appeasing Theoderic,’ declared Julian. Playing up to his nickname of ‘Alexander’, bestowed on account of his uncanny resemblance to the famous Macedonian, Julian was tricked out in Ancient Greek-style armour, which had the effect of making him appear both formidable and faintly ridiculous. ‘The Goths, after all, are just barbarians. If we were to mobilize a big enough Roman army, we could take him on and destroy him.’
‘And risk another Adrianople?’ sneered Zeno. ‘I think not. I suspect that, if pushed, Theoderic might prove to be as effective a tactician as Fritigern.’
‘What we need is another Strabo,’ put in Thalassios. ‘Pitting one barbarian against another — that’s a game the Romans have long been masters of.’
‘“Divide et impera” — good point,’ replied Zeno. ‘Trouble is, my friend, the Ostrogoths are all united now, and, inconveniently, we haven’t any rival barbarians within the empire.’
‘But outside the empire. .’ murmured Julian, as an idea formed in his mind. Enthusiastically, he began to expound his plan.
Alone in a reception chamber, Zeno rose from his throne as Theoderic entered. ‘Greetings, my dear old friend,’ he declared, with a warmth that was only half simulated. Despite the bad blood that now flowed like a river between them, he liked the tall German with the frank blue eyes and thoughtful, slightly troubled expression — this man who, in the past, had proved himself a loyal Friend of Rome, and to whom, indeed, Zeno owed his throne. ‘We have a proposition which may interest you,’ he continued, waving the other to a chair.
‘Your “propositions” I have heard before, Zeno. I would remind you that my bodyguard of loyal Goths is just outside this palace, and ten thousand of my warriors are encamped beyond the city walls.’
‘Well, no one can blame you for taking precautions.’ Dropping the imperial ‘we’, Zeno continued, ‘I confess that in our dealings in the past, I may sometimes have allowed myself to be swayed by wrong advice. But let’s try to put such misunderstandings behind us. I need someone to take over in Italy as my vicegerent. Who better than my friend and former ally Theoderic Amalo?’